


Black Spot

by Altzkmerz



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 15:15:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15799161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altzkmerz/pseuds/Altzkmerz
Summary: He was a young price he said see you later you filthy ass foozler pirate. He wasn't good enough for him.PriceEddie!PirateRichie! au with lots of vine and other unecessary pop-cultural references that make no sense at all because this is set during the 1800's.





	Black Spot

Richie Tozier walked down the paved street with a shit-eating grin that everyone seemed to not care for it all, partially because Richie looked filthy, messy curls and dirty linen shirt, but mostly because the only people on the streat at roughly one a.m were the drunk and homeless. 

So be it. He’d brag about his great achievement, possibly the greatest of his life, to the universe, then.

His friends, beside him on the old and creaky farm wagon, were also bubbling inside like a bottle of sparkling wine ready to erupt with euphoria, but the heist was not over yet, and so they opted for hiding their contentment under black cloaks.

Eddie, too, kept hidden. His entire self. Under lots of hay, in the back of the wagon, hands and feet thightend with ropes, incapable of screaming for help. 

At one point, when they stopped to try and fix the wagon wheel, Richie, responsible for holding the prince Edward Kaspbrak, untied the cloth around Eddie’s mouth because the boy seemed to be having a fucking heart attack or something, despite having heard hard _no_ ’s from all his friends. He made the prince promise not to scream, or else Richie would stab his knife in his cute, cute belly, “ _understand, pumpkin?_ ” to which your Majesty eagerly agreed to at the moment, but, inevitably, went on to screaming like fucking babe whale being burned alive as soon as he recovered his breath. Richie didn’t actually hurt him at all, but wasn't shy about his disappointment for the rest of trip. 

“Really, I do one nice thing for you. All you had to do is keep quiet, but you just... you had to ruin didn’t you?”

“Mmmfmfmfm” 

“No. I don’t accept your apologies, don’t you see that i can’t trust you anymore?” 

“I don’t think he’s saying sorry.”

“Mmmmffffm mmmmmfmfmfm mmfmfmmf. Phmffmfm!”

The whole not-as-elaborated-as-Stan-wanted plan to kidnap the young prince had Richie climb to the prince’s private chambers and wait for three knocks on the door. 

Richie, as the good thief he is, could movie as silently as a clumsy mime, and managed to walk the entire room, almost drop the golden candlestick on the prince’s nightstand, and kneel dramatically before him mouthing a “ _Sorry oh! your mighty greatest Majesty_ ”. But also, Richie, as the good thief he is, could not hold himself from grabbing the nearest expensive looking vase he could find, throw away its flowers out of the window, and fill it with whatever he could steal. 

Everything was going according to the plan. Except, he didn’t know, none of them could have imagined, that the church’s bells, with it’s loud and thunderous bangs that echoed throughout the entire city at midnight (a tradition during the Spring Festival) would awake your Majesty. 

The prince, settled comfortably in a bed with more mattresses than Richie had ever seen together in a place before, turned to the other side, yawned and stretched. He had opened his eyes just slightly in the process and closed them again. Richie watched everything, paralyzed, holding the vase in one hand (already almost full with variable finds) and a half eaten bread in the other. 

For a moment, it seemed the young prince was back in his sleep and Richie signed in relief, but when he relaxed and swallowed the dry lamp of bread down his throat, the prince opened his eyes again, this time wide and disoriented, got up abruptly and grabbed the nearest weapon he could find. This took a skeptical look form Richie, because that wasn’t a weapon at all, but the handmade bellows close to the fireplace. Well, he supposed everything could be a weapon if you knew how to use it. 

“Who the _fuck_ are you?!” The prince demande while maintaining his ground. It was dark where he standed, the moon being the only source of light in the room, and Richie bathing himself on it entirely. 

“Ricardo Tostor.” He answered dishonestly with what he called a great spanish accent, recomposing himself and, dramatically, just like he had done moments before, bowed before the prince, this time almost dropping the vase’s content in the process. 

“What the fuck are doing here?” The young men’s voice was shaky like if he was struggling to keep it together. 

"Well," Richie said, putting the rest of the bread on the oval tray on the weird ass shaped commode. "Ya'see," he noticed the silver hand mirror next to the silver plate and took it. "I'm a thief," he showed his teeth to the mirror looking for any sign of food there and when he didn’t find any, he licked his teeth. If the mirror could talk he’d shudder in disgust, but Eddie did it instead, so the mirror was satisfied. "I steal things.” He clarified matter of factually, and in order to demonstrate, he tried putting the hand mirror in the vase. It didn't pass through the rim though, so he shoved down his pants instead.

"I know what a thief is shitface," the prince spit, face in disgust "And I'm not letting you get away with it. GUARDS!”

And it was at this moment, that Richie knew, he’d fucked up.

He all but jumped in the direction of the prince to silent him, but the little fuck kept evading his lanky arms and a comic image of a comedy stage-play took its place in the room as the prince, hands planted on the bed, stared at Richie, on the opposite side of it, making to move right or left, trying to deceive one another. Eddie screamed for the guards and Richie kept shushing him with desperate whispers of “ _Shut UP you little scallywag!_ ”.

When a strong metallic figured opened the doors, Eddie all but ran to him, pointing at Richie, trying to explain the situation. He could hardly make out a few words, breathing hard as he was, but there was a stranger in his room, so the whole thing probably explained itself pretty clearly. 

The guard stepped into the room and his big, threatening figure became more evident. He looked at Richie for a moment, then at Eddie, then at Richie again. With a loud sigh, he turned around, closed the door behind him and locked it. Eddie was confusion. 

“What are you doing?” 

The guard grabbed the prince’s wrist, his large hand encircled it with ease, and before he could scream for help again, Richie was stuffing a sock, one that the noble had tried to throw at him during the chase, in his cute little mouth. He tried to scream, again, but it came out muffled this time. Richie was satisfied. Then, the prince stopped, as if sense had finally possessed his pettit self, and spit the thing out, resuming to screaming. Richie grabbed the thing again, stuffed in his mouth again, and this time, secured with a piece of cloth he’d ripped from his own shirt. 

The prince tried to fight, of course he did, and for a few moments Richie thought the slippery motherfucker would actually break free, but at the end of it, he was thighted and on the floor like a five feet five fish, wearing only one sock and a soft, plain white, cotton nightshirt. 

“What the fuck, Richard!” Was what came out of Mike, once the helmet was of. He didn’t sound angry, just genuinely curious and breathless. He cleaned the sweat of his forehead with the back of his hand, the prince sure didn’t make things easier for them. 

“It’s not my fault! That stupid bell went off! And, why didn’t you knock if you were out there?”

“I just got here. Convinced the guard he-” he gestured to the prince ”had probably seen a spider or something-“ Eddie looked offended “and told him I’d take care of it. It didn’t take a lot of convincing though, the guy couldn’t wait to leave.“ He put the helmet back on “I’ll go back there to wait for Ben and Bev or they might think something's wrong.”

Richie patted him on the shoulder once like a horse seller and watched as the door closed. He cleaned the sweat out of his face just like Mike had, with an adicional phew! for dramatic effect, and looked around the room, hands in the waist trying to remember where he had left “his belongings” so he could resume the task of robbing Your Majesty. 

“Aye ya quoite da foighter, ya?“ He said gathering some of the silverware that had radically been tossed on the bed during the chase. “Bloody sleppery fish too oi.” Eddie cringed at that fantastic demonstration of irish accent, but Richie didn’t see it. To busy looking around, making sure he had gotten all he could carry. 

When he felt satisfied, he set on the floor next to the prince, legs crossed, hands holding his head as he stared at the man before him. Eddie refused to look him in the eye. 

“I think it is safe to say now,” it wasn’t, “that this is not a simple act of thievery.” Eddie looked at him, then, watery eyes and face stiffen like if he was trying not cry, yet Richie felt like he could burn the whole castle to the ground with only one look. Richie would never admit that the reason he looked away was because he felt intimidated by him, because it wasn't. He just so happened to find a dessert silver plate on the floor, one that the prince had also attempted to throw at him at some point during the chase. In retrospect, lots of royal objects had been tossed at him. 

"Ya’see, I was recently promoted and now I steal people too, specialized in cute princes." 

He didn't meant to say cute, really, but there were so many things in his life he never meant to say and did because his mouth was faster than his brain, apparently. And even though there was still a part of his brain that, in situations like this would always say " _Goddammit Richie!_ " or “ _whyy?_ ”, It was easy to ignore and move to next thing. He said what he said. Fuck it. 

Richie winked. Eddie blushed a little. Richie grin grew. Eddie let his head hit the floor with a grunt and the three knocks came. 

Getting out of the castle wasn't nearly as simple as Stan had made it seem, very much like getting in, but when they met him at the stable, where they put a still struggling prince in the wagon and covered him with hay, they looked at eachother, flustered and breathless, and laughed. 

As they make their way toward Maturin, the greatest ship the sea had ever seen according to no one (not even its own sailors), Richie was whistling a song, one that he had always liked particularly more than the others, that says: 

_“Come all you young sailormen, listen to me_  
_I'll sing you a song of the fish in the sea, and it's_  
_Windy weather boys, stormy weather, boys_  
_When the wind blows we're all together, boys.”_

And for some reason, when he looked at Eddie struggling inside the wagon, at his friends quietly retelling the night and giggling, and at the sea ahead of him, he felt this song to be true, now more than ever. 

_“We're all together, boys.”_

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this, God have mercy on your soul.


End file.
